Inverted
by mercva
Summary: Xander mocks some Goths at Halloween. Poor Xander.


Summary: YAHF. 

Disclaimer: I own EVERYTHING! The world owes me a God's ransom in royalties and taxes! 

Feedback: Shure... 

Pre-fic Comments: 

I think you can guess what the summary stands for. This fic is probably R rated. It shure ain't for reading if you're under 16 or so. 

I. Hate. My. Imagination. I also hate that damn muse. 

Almost everything in this fic, I either pulled stuff out of my ass or from heavy metal. You'll probably get laughed at elsewhere if you use this as a reference. 

* * * 

Xander stifled a fit of the giggles as he wandered away from Snyder and the Clipboard of Doom. 

"What's so funny?," Willow asked. 

"Nothing, nothing," Xander said, grin proclaiming otherwise. 

"Spill," Buffy commanded. "Or I get Giles to have you practice with me this afternoon." 

"Okay, okay," Xander capitulated. He pointed at a small group of black clad students, all about eighteen or so. "Them. I dunno why, they just crack me up." 

"Who, the resident goths?," Willow asked. She took a look too. "I guess they could be funny... in a funny-weird way." 

"Nah, they're just sad," Buffy ruled. "Any plans for costumes tomorrow?" 

"Not really," Xander shrugged. "I don't have a lot of loose change right now, so it'll have to be some clothes from home, maybe a toy gun or something. Hey, maybe I could borrow my Dad's clothes and go as a clown." 

Buffy held back a giggle. "I dare you to go as a clown of the twenty first century." 

She pointed in the direction of the group of the goths who had departed in a cloud of indignation. 

Xander thought about it, then shrugged. "I guess so. Wills, have you still got that facepaint from two years ago?" 

"Yeah," the redhead said. "There's heaps of white and some black left..." 

"It's a date, then," Buffy smiled. "What do you think Angel would like?" 

Xander pulled a face. "Do you /have/ to discuss Deadboy in front of me? It isn't really polite to speak of the dead. You know, like how no one talks about dead Aunty Whoever after the funeral." 

"Xander!," Willow reprimanded. Her eyes went liquid. "I bet he'd like those old fashioned skirts, and dresses, and bodices... hey, maybe we could steal one of Giles' books on him!" 

"When he was Angelus, you mean?," Xander asked doubtfully. The idea had a certain horrific quality to it. 

"Ahhh... Xander, how about you sort out your clothing for tomorrow?," Buffy said diplomatically. "There's a new costume shop opening, so we could probably get some satanic pendants for you on some kind of special after school." 

"Opening special?," Willow asked, unsure. 

"Sure," Buffy said cheerfully. "New shops and closing down shops always have specials to draw in customers. Happened all the time in LA." 

* * * 

Xander picked up the cross from the bargain bin. It was marked as being fifty cents. He held it by the necklace, inspecting it. The hole for the cord was at the end of the longest arm, so it appeared to be upside down. 

"Weird," he mused out loud. 

"You have... unusual taste," a voice said from behind him, startling him. 

"Geez! Don't do that!," Xander said, heart racing. "Uh, what do you mean?" 

The man, thin with a baggy red shirt, took the cross pendant from Xander's hands, tracing it's lines. "The inverted cross, also known as the Cross of Saint Peter, although it is more popularly considered to be a satanic protest against Christianity." 

"Oh," Xander said intelligently. "Sounds like the G-man would know all about it." 

"The G-man?," the man asked, a tinge of distaste colouring his voice. "A federal agent?" 

Xander laughed out loud, considering Rupert Giles in a black suit and working for the FBI. "No, the school librarian. Rupert Giles, or something. Man, it ticks him off sooo much when I call him that." 

The shopkeeper handed the inverted cross back to Xander. "If you're creating a costume along the lines of a satanist, we have a special today. Purchase five items together from the bin for two dollars." 

A wide grin bloomed on Xander's face. "Thanks! That is so cool... two bucks is all I have. When do you close, again?" 

The teenager ended up scrounging a long black wig, two bracers covered with metal spikes, the inverted cross, and a spiked dog collar from the bargain bin, paying just before the shop closed. 

* * * 

Joyce opened the door, then blinked. 

"Ah, who are you?," she asked the strange looking young man. He looked like a cultist, of some sort. 

"Xander, Mrs S," the youth said cheerfully. "Didn't you recognise me?" 

"Ah, no," Mrs Summers said, diplomatically adding, "it is a rather good disguise." 

He had corpse paint applied, giving his features a demonic cast with the white and black facepaint. The wig trailed crazily over his face and down his back, and the pendant hung over his bare chest, which also had a touch of whitening applied. A long, knee length coat hung open across his shoulders, and he had a black pair of jeans on. The coat's sleeves had been cut off at the elbows, the two spiked bracers covering his forearms. He had two stakes and a knife tucked in his back pockets, for protection should any vampires happen across his charges. 

Xander grinned. The normally mirthful expression looked extremely disturbing with his new appearance. 

"Think of me as all the b-grade horror movies you've ever seen rolled into one," he said happily. "I'm the clown of the twenty first century, according to Buffy." 

".....oh," Joyce said weakly. "Buffy and Willow will be out shortly, if you could just wait a moment." 

For some reason that she couldn't articulate, Joyce felt unable to invite Xander over the threshold of her home, tonight. 

It really was a good costume, she mused to herself as she yelled up to the girls that Xander had arrived. 

* * * 

He looked around. A second ago, he had been busy with his coven, helping with a ritual Summoning of a powerful demon. Now, he was in some backwards town. This was not a good thing. Without him there, the circle of protection would be weakened, and the probability of the demon breaking it's bindings would be that much greater. 

Numerous minor imps ran free in this town. Strange... he knew of no one fool enough to let them roam free. He raised an arm. A lance of black fire shot from his palm, and roasted a group of the short demons. They were not killed, but incapacitated so that he could deal with them at his leisure. In his experience, heavily burnt imps could not outrun a tall human male. 

"Xander!," a female voice called out breathlessly. "Don't kill them!" 

His head whipped around, his hand going instinctively for the knife at the small of his back. He pulled out the foot long blade. 

"Who are you?," he asked harshly. "And who is Xander?" 

The girl looked at him strangely. "You're Xander. Uh, have you been possessed or something?" 

* * * 

He frowned. Why was he bothering to help this useless, whimpering woman? 

"Heretic!," the bitch shrieked. "Foul blasphemer! Get thee behind me!" 

The sharp knife travelled across the back of her hand, drawing blood but light enough to heal without leaving a scar. 

"The next time, it touches your face," he scowled. "Got me?" 

The woman, finally convinced of the gravity of the situation she was in, sat down whitefaced and nodded. He continued rifling through the desk, pocketing some jewelry he found tucked away in a nondescript box. 

* * * 

Spike smiled, feeling pleased. He had caught the Slayer, and she could do nothing to stop him. Hell, she was a prisoner in her own skull! 

The most terrific pain he had ever felt blitzed through his head abruptly. The blonde vampire let the Slayer go involuntarily, hands going to his head and encountering a metal blade imbedded in it. Through the ungodly pain, he could feel a hand holding the knife. 

He gasped as the blade was withdrawn, pain only abating slightly as vampiric healing immediately began sewing the wound closed. Another pain, sharper, an order of magnitude lesser but worse bloomed in his lower back as the knife cut through his spinal cord. For some unknown reason, the spinal cord healed far, far more slowly than anything else in a vampire's undead body. 

"I've been wanting one of you for awhile," an evil voice whispered by his ear. "You're the first one I've been able to catch without dusting." 

A corpse-painted face moved into his field of vision. "Just think of the fun that we'll have." 

* * * 

Post-fic comments: 

I am *NOT* going to continue this. A fair dose of artistic license was used. 


End file.
